Fervo
by ignis-ad-iudicem
Summary: Powers that be often come together in strange ways, through time unending. Only hearts and understanding change.


_**FERVO**_

 **...**

 **I must note before I begin as always that my interpretation of Kayle has been built from scratch and is individual. She operates on different rules than any other Kayle I have encountered and has a constructed background and reasoning. Please don't steal it, it's happened before and is very hurtful; if you're curious about her you are more than welcome to ask me questions. I am mostly available on my Tumblr blog, under the same name. Of course, characters are not mine.**

 **Let my blade speak the law.**

 **...**

When the Starchild finally deems it safe to step onto the bloodied ground, she trots quickly to the nearest man, standing in shock. He is unresponsive, stunned, and she frets over him, poking and prodding, but he is unharmed. Somehow. In this field of misery, he stands unharmed.

She stiffens at the breeze at her back, a gust of wind caused by enormous wings. The angel had been on the other side of the field. She was quick.

"You healed them all?" she asks, a bit tartly, but not turning around. She will not show fear, not to something that would once have been a cousin or a sister to her.

"Yes," the Judicator replies, and an armoured hand comes to rest on her shoulder, gleaming as brightly as the fire casting shadows across them. The man closes his eyes, tears streaming down his face at the sight of it again. "He will recover. They all will."

Soraka spins, and she eyes the taller woman dubiously, trying her hardest to peer into those faceless shadows beneath that golden helm. "Does it not hurt you?"

"It does," the golden warrior admits with a chuckle. "But that does not matter, does it?"

"You shine," the healer says, abrupt and quiet. "You shine like you are a star." And then she cants her head to the side, considering, and shakes it, strands of silver like moonlight fluttering across violet skin. "No," she corrects herself. "You burn. Like a sun, standing alone in the darkness."

A rolling rumble of a growl and the bright tinkling of bells come from across the distance, behind the angel; she blinks, and her two familiar companions are gone again, Lamb tossing her a merry wave as she bounds across the bodies, souls trailing in her wake and spilling from Wolf's jaws. Neither of the women turn to greet them properly; they all have their place, and it is not yet time for them all to come together. Not this day.

"So you are one of us," she concludes.

That helmet inclines, considering, then nods, slowly. "I cannot die. I fight for more than what I am."

"You emerge the victor, because you do not know the meaning of defeat," the Starchild breathes. "On wings of golden glory, born of blood and cast of flame. Oh, Justice. I remember you, from long ago, though you look different later. You have so much farther to go."

"I know," the other says simply. "The cycle will bring me again, I know. Again and again. This place, these people, so many complex verdicts it is as though I am meant to stay. I will come, again and again, in the past and the future, but for now, I am myself. I do not remember you."

"That is fine," Soraka laughs, the sound soft and rippling in the silence around them. "I have changed, too. It has been so long I can barely remember. You are one of the oldest of us all. Shall we meet again? Let us learn together."

The angel bows low. "Of course, cousin of the warmest stars. I have never had need to pass a judgment on your kind."

"You still will not let me lend my aid, will you?" she asks abruptly. "You would not then. Or you will not."

Her crown of fire burns brighter, roaring high as the Judicator lifts her helm in tribute to the Starchild. Their eyes meet, and Soraka's breath catches, because in that face like stone, sculpted in fire and light, those eyes are the deepest oceans, drowning in themselves and full of misery and blood and pain collected through untold ages.

"No. Some things cannot be healed. And even gods can die if they overstep," the other says, quiet and solemn.

They part without another word, just a slow, weary nod of resignation, though when the Starchild turns away her eyes are filled with tears.


End file.
